


you/me

by clairvoie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, They Flip, very short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairvoie/pseuds/clairvoie





	you/me

And, oh, how he cleaned up so nicely. 

The smell of the shower gel riding in his skin, the smell of rosemary and parsley and garlic sticking to his fingertips. In bed, as he smelled of all these things, and sweat, too, he lay like a man who knew only poise. 

He was beautiful, in some human fashion. And Will wanted him, in all those primal ways folks seldom spoke aloud, to be controlled, to be taken, to take; in an obsessive way that screamed danger to his rational mind. Yes, he wanted him the way one wants ink and needle to sink into skin, to burn, to pierce, to become a part of him. 

He wanted to absorb him, your body inside me, mine inside of yours, until we cannot tell where we have ended up or who we will be when this stops. And will it ever stop? 

There was nothing else for him: the bed, like a raft in the ocean, like a pit of water in the heat. And maybe it made no sense, maybe his body was unrecognizable to him now, his flesh from Hannibal’s flesh, and maybe he didn’t care when the sensations began to fill his body up like a flood. All was pleasure and there was nothing else besides this man, this creature, in his arms, and something beyond the two of them.

The arching of his back reminded him of the physicality of it all. Hannibal above him, below him, pushing and pressing into all the spots where his body yielded. Will putting his own mouth on Hannibal’s chest, his arms, the little spot by his jaw and underneath his earlobe, between the warmth of his thighs. 

It was all skin, skin everywhere. Skin bending and slipping and rubbing like it was summertime. And it was. It was summertime and tears spilled over their eyelids and painted their bodies like a fresco, untimely interwoven, not once separating even when they were apart. 


End file.
